Fixing Things
by caffeineaddict13
Summary: A plan, a party, and an olive. And Jacob Black's in love. J/B, AU/AH, oneshot, written for the SOB Challenge. Received second place in the Best Kiss category.


"**SORT OF BEAUTIFUL CHALLENGE" Entry**

**Title: **Fixing Things

**Your pen name(s): **caffeineaddict13/annalynnlaughs (LJ)

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this challenge visit the "SORT OF BEAUTIFUL CHALLENGE" profile page:**

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2046940/**

**DISCLAIMER: Twilight characters and related likeness owned by Stephenie Meyer, Little Brown Publishing. No profits have been received in the production of this piece.**

--

**A/N: **I don't think I've ever written a pre-Twilight AU before. Hope it's good.

--

_You really shouldn't say "I love you" unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget, and it's good for them to get reminded._

--

Jacob Black had never much _liked_ olives.

He didn't _hate_ them, exactly, but if asked what his favorite fruit was (were olives even considered a fruit? They had pits, sure, but somehow they reminded him more of a vegetable), his answer would certainly _not_ be olives.

Of course, they became marginally cooler after he saw his first James Bond movie (it was _Goldfinger_; he was seven), and for a while he had Billy make him virgin martinis – mostly club soda and a toothpick – with _extra_ olives, because everyone knows that olives make martinis look a hundred times cooler than they usually do.

But he had never given much thought to it, all the same. Olives, that is. So it was sort of funny how, after all, it was the very thing that would end up changing his life forever.

--

"Jake?" Rebecca asked, voice tilting on the end. He recognized that voice, mostly because it was the one she used when she wanted something from him. Jacob loved his sister, obviously, but she always seemed to be asking for his help.

"What is it?" he replied, his hand still moving rhythmically over the side of the car he was washing.

"I was just hoping," she said, carefully, and he could see her even with his back turned: hands clasped at her stomach, her eyes wide, pout settling on her face. "That maybe, if you're not, you know, _busy_…" she paused, waiting for him to interrupt. He didn't. "You could cover for me tonight?"

Jacob sighed. Rebecca was nineteen, and it was her last summer at home. Her twin, Rachel, was away on some pre-college emersion thing, and Jacob knew that she sort of relished the time alone. Embry had called that day, asking him about maybe hanging at First Beach later, but…

"Sure, Becks," he said, finally. Rebecca let out a little squeal and hugged her brother from behind.

"Ugh, you got me wet," she scrunched her nose when she let him go.

Jake smirked. "Didn't ask you to thank me," he said.

"You know, little brother," she told him, "maybe you'd have a bit more of a social life if you kept comments like that to yourself."

"So I should just tell Dad you're at Mark's, then?"

"Okay, okay, sorry!" She held up her hands, as if in defeat. "Didn't mean it. I'm sure you and those little mutts of yours have loads of fun."

"Hey," he said, indignantly. "My friends are much cleaner than _mutts_, Becca."

"Oh," she shrugged. "My mistake. Guess I couldn't tell from the mess they always leave at the house."

"Are you gonna go or not?"

"Going," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "See ya later, Jake."

Jacob absently waved goodbye, continuing to scrub the side door.

There was something incredibly relaxing about working like this – it wasn't like school, where there was always something more to do, or even like retail, with its constant cycle of customers. Jacob liked fixing cars because he always had something to show in the end. It was simple: tweak a part here, move this over there, grease that, and it was fixed. _Complete_. Cars didn't need a billion things like humans did, and Jacob found that refreshing. Sure, it could break down again, and maybe even get too old to function, eventually, but in general a car was a pretty happy thing. It lived out its life doing what it did best: driving. And that was that.

So it kind of made sense that Jacob lived his life in much the same way that a car did – easily. He kept the things (and people) he loved close to him, and though he _occasionally_ had to succumb to the normal parameters of society and do things which he found unpleasant (the aforementioned school being one of them), mostly he did the things he did because they were just the parts that, when put together, made Jacob Black run smoothly.

And there weren't very many, after all: his family – Dad, Rebecca and Rachel; his friends – Embry, Quil, the Clearwaters, a few other guys around the Rez; mechanics, sports, the occasional social outing. He'd never had a girlfriend, and, at fifteen, just _thinking _about girls was pretty much enough to keep him going. There were a few breakdowns, of course, just like any good car is bound to have – an F on his midterm, getting grounded by Billy, Terrence Fisher moving away in sixth grade. And his mom, which was the biggest, but he tended not to think about that.

In any case, it was a fair assessment to say that Jacob Black was a pretty happy kid.

So he wasn't exactly expecting it, that normal day (as all exceptional days start out to be). He wasn't really expecting his life to change.

But it did.

--

Quil Ateara remembers it all quite clearly. If you asked him, today, what started it all, he would tell you very simply that it was beer.

You see – it wasn't _Jacob's_ idea to go to that party, anyway. It was Quil's. And he'll take full responsibility on that front, if you asked him, mostly because he knows Jake is secretly thanking him for it, even though he'd never say it out loud.

After Jacob called him that day, saying that First Beach was off and him and Embry could always come over to chill, Quil had an idea. Because he knew that the Black kid was _desperately_ in need of some relaxing – most specifically of the kegger variety – after a year of being the Perfect Son and another month of summer spent family-style with his sister (who, while hot, was not in any way prepared to let her younger brother go out clubbing with her. Quil would know; he'd tried).

That night, he and Embry _did_ go over to the Black house, where Jacob was in the garage tinkering with his (many times assured to be prize-winning) Rabbit.

"Man, you _really_ need to get out," Quil announced, looking at his friend's hunched over position.

"I hate to say it," Embry admitted, "but Quil's right, dude. You've been stuck in here for _way _too long. I'm beginning to think those grease-stains on your hands are permanent."

"I _like _it here," Jacob grunted.

"Well, what's not to like?" Quil mocked. "Dirty floors, limited access to food, that wonderful garbage scent…"

"If you don't wanna be here, you didn't have to come."

"That's the thing, though," he said. "We're your friends, and it's our duty to pull you out of this shit hole, at least for the night."

Jacob sighed. "I told Becca I'd cover for her."

"So tell Billy she took us out for ice cream and a movie," Quil shrugged. "Dude, he _trusts_ you. You could tell him you were going out for hookers and he'd give you an extra fifty bucks."

"That's sort of true," Embry pointed out. "I mean, not the hookers part, but the part about you being Billy's golden boy."

"I don't know, guys," Jacob said reluctantly. "I mean, I just got this new tool set and I really should be home just in case –"

"You know what, Jake?" Quil asked, pointing a finger. "You're _being_ a tool. All we're asking for is _one night_ of good old-fashioned, teenage debauchery and you're not letting us have it!" He shook his head sadly. "And you call yourself a friend…"

Jacob rolled his eyes, wiping his hands on his jeans as he stood up. "You're ridiculous, Quil, and you should know that I am _not_ doing this willingly."

"Hey, man," he shrugged, "you can do it tied up and blindfolded, for all I care. Just as long as you go."

--

The car ride to the party was mostly full of dirty jokes. Jacob loved his friends, and as much as he didn't appreciate the side-sweep, he knew they really did have good intentions, behind all the foul-mouthed puns.

"Where's this thing at, anyway?" Jacob asked, interrupting a punch line that somehow involved a cucumber and a donut.

"Remember Max Carson?" Embry asked. "His girlfriend's that chick in our math class with the really short shorts?"

"I think so."

"Well, it's at his cousin's, but the whole school's gonna be there. Plus some of Forks High, too, I think."

"So…there's gonna be, like, drinking?"

"Yes, dear Jacob," Quil cut in, "the consumption of alcohol will in fact be included in tonight's activities."

Jacob punched him in the arm.

"Dude, I'm driving!"

"Yeah, and you're also _annoying_."

"Whatever," he said. "You'll thank me later, you know, when you're hooking up with some hot senior in Carson's bathroom."

"I sincerely hope my memories of tonight do _not_ include getting busy where another guy showers," Jacob replied.

"Yeah, we'll see." He turned a sharp corner, then, and grinned. "Speaking of, it seems that we have arrived."

The house was a typical Tudor, nice enough for La Push and big enough to stuff a hundred or so bodies in to with relative comfort. Jacob took a breath in when they entered it, immediately filled with what can only be accurately described as Teenage Party Scent – a mix of sweat, heat, beer, sex and…something not quite nameable. The party seemed to be already in swing; there was music playing loud enough to burst eardrums, food and half-empty cups scattered around any and all flat surfaces, and lots and _lots_ of people – sitting, standing, leaning in every space provided.

Jacob turned to Embry, speaking louder than usual. "What now?"

"Now," Quil announced, putting an arm around each of his friends, "we _party._"

Jacob snorted.

--

Mike Newton knows the _real_ story. You could listen to that Rez kid and his theory on alcohol, or even Jessica Stanley and her lap-dance tale (which she'd gladly tell you, if you asked). But Mike knows the truth, the _real_ truth, because he was _there._ You see, it wasn't beer or pinball or quarters or dancing that brought them together – it was LFO. As in, that boy band from a while back and that stupid song about summer.

Mike had been talking to her at the time – she was pretty, after all, and Newton never passed up an opportunity to "make conversation." But Bella didn't seem to respond, as hard as he tried (and he tried _really _hard), so Mike had just settled to hoping that she'd get drunk enough at the party to at least kiss him goodnight.

That was when Jacob Black came in, of course. See, everyone thinks that it was him that made the first move, but Mike was standing close enough to know that it was actually Bella. When Jacob made his way over, smiling that mad-man grin he's always got on, the girl in question turned up her lips and said quietly, "Jacob Black."

"That's me," he answered. "How's Miss Swan doing, anyway?"

Bella shrugged. "Alright. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Ten years, I think," he said, nodding. "You left me in that sandbox all alone, you know. Damn near broke my five-year-old heart."

"I'm sorry!" She laughed, holding up a mock-surrender. "It's just that Renee got that new job and…well, you know the rest."

Jacob nodded. "You're back, though?"

"Just for the summer," she said. "I'm actually surprised I haven't been dragged over to your house yet. Guess the fish crop must be bad this year."

"Guess so."

The music changed, then, and Bella smiled. Jacob looked taken aback a bit, and Mike understood. See, Bella Swan's smile can do some things to a guy. Especially when it's the one that's _only_ for you. Not that Mike would know, or anything, but he'd seen enough of her throughout the night to guess.

"You remember this?" she asked, chuckling.

Jacob crinkled his brow, then his face grew wider. "Oh, God," he said, laughing. "You used to be _in love_ with them."

"You totally were, too," she said. "You used to stare at that poster in my room all the time."

"I hate to break it to you, Bells, but if I _was_ staring, it was only because I wanted you to _think_ I liked them. Music is a pretty sure-fire way to a girls' heart, you know."

"Is that a fact?" she asked, amused.

"Definitely."

Mike left then, if only because he knew where this was going. Everyone did, though none knew exactly how or why. That's why everyone has their own story, you see. Because Jacob Black and Bella Swan may not be perfect, but they're sure as hell the most interesting thing to happen in Forks in a very, very long time.

--

Talking to Bella Swan was sort of like driving. It _should_ come naturally to Jacob, and in some ways, it did, but it was also exhilarating, terrifying, and dangerous. Exhilarating because Bella had _grown up_ – he remembered her as the cute, pig-tailed girl he made mud pies with, and now she was all, well…_hot_. Terrifying because Jacob wasn't even really that great at talking to girls, _at all_, let alone pretty ones. And dangerous because he knew that one wrong step would leave him alone in a party full of classmates he barely knew, and the rest of his life to spend regretting.

That's where the olive came in.

"Do you like them?" he questioned, cocking his head.

"Like what?" Bella replied.

"Olives. You know, the fruit. Or vegetable. Or whatever."

"I like them fine, I guess." She looked confused, which was understandable, but she gracefully waited when Jacob told her that he'd be back in a minute.

"Here," he said when he returned, holding out his palm. There was a pimento olive inside, freshly forest green and red, especially cheery in contrast to the dim room it was surrounded by.

She laughed. "I…don't understand?"

"You will," he told her. "By the end of the night, you will."

She shrugged and they kept talking – not just about fruits and LFO, not even just about the past. About…everything. It was a quarter to midnight when Jacob grabbed her hand, brought her outside to a big weeping willow in Carson's backyard.

She stared at him when they got there, tilting her head as though trying to figure something out.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's just…" she trailed off, laughing quietly. "In this light, you know, you look…sort of beautiful."

"Only sort of?"

"Okay," she admitted. "Not just sort of."

He grinned. "Score one for Jacob Black."

She smacked his shoulder, rolling her eyes. "See, that's why I didn't wanna say it. You're just as arrogant as you were when you were five."

"You're the same, too," he said, still smiling. "Well, almost."

"Only almost?" she teased, sitting next to him.

"Well, you've got boobs, for one thing," he said, gesturing. Bella hit him again, crossing her arms. He chuckled. "You're also smarter, and more generous. If I remember correctly, you were pretty stingy back then, especially when it came to toys."

"You always had the best ones," she said.

"True."

"So…how am I the same?" she asked quietly. She had uncrossed her arms by then, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. Jacob mimicked her pose, closing his eyes for a second.

"Well," he breathed. "You're just as pretty, though in a different kind of way, of course. And you still have the unique ability to make me fall in love with you in a matter of seconds."

Bella didn't answer, and for a minute Jacob thought maybe he had scared her off. And then…

"You're still Jake," she said, her voice close. "And I don't think I ever stopped."

"Stopped what?" he asked, eyes shut tight.

"Loving you."

And then her lips were on his.

--

So, that's it. That's how Bella Swan spent her last (and, as it turned out, also sort of first) summer in Forks. That's how the Blacks gained a daughter. And that's how Jacob Black, the happy kid, kick-started his carburetor and found out that it _is_ possible to be missing something without actually knowing it's gone.

Of course, there is the matter of the olive. You see, later that night, as he was walking her to her door, Bella asked Jacob the same thing.

"You haven't guessed by now?" he inquired, smirking.

"You don't even _like_ olives," she replied.

"I like _you_, Bella."

"I like you, too."

"I guess you could say..." he smiled, anticipating the joke. "_Olive_ you."

Bella was silent for a moment, before shaking her head. "That is possibly the cheesiest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Yeah, well, my psychologist says I have trouble expressing my emotions."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Jake," she said, still bemused. He kissed her, softly, then chuckled.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head, muttering, "We didn't end up in a bathroom," before walking back to the car.

And it was the probably the entire town, actually, that heard it, under the quiet purr of the motor, as Jacob drove away down the street:

"Olive you, too, Jacob Black!"

From the front seat, Jake smiled. It wasn't exactly a romance novel, but he'd never really wanted to be in one, anyway.

--

**END**


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